Extra Pages: The Author's Odyssey

It's been five days since I read those journals and discovered what was written in the last diary.

To say the least, it was a horrifying experience.

Look, it's not every day that you find yourself transmigrated to a fantasy world.

There are no instruction manuals for these types of things.

It's my first time in a situation like this and I don't even know what to think now.

That entry was definitely written by Lucas—the original Lucas. However, it was intended for me— Samuel— to read.

But what does that imply?

Did Lucas know about everything that is happening? Did he know that I would be transmigrated into his body?

But how could he have known? He was just a side villain in the novel.

But then again, I can't even fully trust the novel. I also can't trust the memories I acquired from him.

So, what can I trust?

How can I solve this mystery?

According to the entry, Lucas will answer all my questions when the time comes.

Should I wait for that to happen?

Nonsense. I can't wait after learning something like that. Besides, I don't even know if that entry was truly written by Lucas.

I mean, if I really can't trust anything, how am I supposed to trust those journals?

Fuck! One mystery after another!

Ugh, I hate this. I hate problem-solving and uncovering mysteries. It was never my preferred genre.

Haa!

Okay, me, calm down and take deep breath.

Slowly i stood up from my bed and sit on it's edges.

As I sit in the dimly lit room, surrounded by the weight of uncertainty and confusion, my mind races with questions and doubts. It's been five days since I stumbled upon those journals, and each passing moment only adds to the mounting sense of unease.

I never asked for this. Transmigrating into the body of a fictional character was never part of my life plan. Yet here I am, thrust into a world of magic and intrigue, with no instruction manual to guide me through the madness.

The journal entry, penned by the original Lucas, sends shivers down my spine. Was he aware of my existence, of my presence within his body? It's a thought that both intrigues and terrifies me. How could he have known? And if he did, what does that mean for me?

But I can't afford to dwell on uncertainty. I need answers, and I need them now. The journals hold the key to unlocking the truth, or so I hope. But can I trust them? Can I trust anything in this topsy-turvy world?

I shake my head, trying to clear the fog of doubt that clouds my thoughts. Waiting for Lucas's promised answers is not an option. I need to take matters into my own hands, to unravel the mysteries that surround me.

But where do I even begin? The task ahead feels insurmountable, like trying to solve a puzzle with missing pieces. And I, Samuel, am no detective. I've never been one for problem-solving or unraveling mysteries. It's not my forte, not my preferred genre.

Yet here I am, thrust into a role I never asked for, facing challenges I never anticipated. With a heavy sigh, I steel myself for the whatever that comes ahead. Whether I like it or not, I'm in this for the long haul. And if I want to survive, if I want to uncover the truth, I'll need to embrace the unknown and forge ahead, one step at a time.

***

Next day...

Thwack-!

"Ouch...W-wait...Ack!"

Thwack-!

A powerfull kick hit my chest as I left my guard down for a split second. I stumbled backward, the impact knocking the wind out of me. Blinking away stars, I struggled to regain my footing, my chest throbbing with each labored breath.

"Pathetic," a voice sneered from behind me.

I turned to face my opponent, gritting my teeth against the pain. Standing before me was a Yato, My master!

Fuck! The first thing he did after coming back from mission was kicked my ass out in dust.

I'm his disciple or punching bag?

As I glared up at my master, I couldn't help but feel a surge of frustration and indignation. Sure, I knew training with him would be tough, but did it have to involve getting my ribs cracked every other day?

"I'm your disciple, not your punching bag," I muttered under my breath, rubbing my bruised chest.

My master's expression remained impassive, his eyes narrowing as he studied me with a critical gaze. "Disciple or not, you're still weak," he retorted, his voice dripping with disdain. "And weakness has no place in the world we live in."

I gritted my teeth, resisting the urge to snap back at him. I knew he was right—strength was paramount in our line of work. But did he have to be so damn harsh about it?

With a resigned sigh, I pushed myself to my feet, ignoring the throbbing ache in my chest. "Fine," I muttered, my voice laced with frustration. "Let's try that again."

My master nodded, a faint glimmer of approval flickering in his eyes. "Good," he replied, his tone gruff but not unkind. "I'll give you a healing potion," Yato retorted in an 'isn't that obvious' tone.

"....."

Once again, I was left utterly speechless by the sheer cruelty of his mindset.

Just because he can fix me, he deems it acceptable to break my limbs!

I'm not an expert on the subject of the master and disciple relationship, but isn't a master supposed to be gentle and nurturing toward their disciple?!

"And besides, I was going easy on you," Yato stated matter-of-factly. "It's your mind that's clouded with uneasy thoughts. Is something bothering you?"

"...I guess," I muttered, looking down at my feet.

Right now, it was around 5:46 AM, and I found myself in the Training ground with Yato.

We were engaged in unarmed combat, going through our routine training.

Since becoming his disciple my understanding of him has also grown significantly.

Apparently, he's not as indifferent and callous as many other said he is.

I mean, he still is, but he doesn't treat me that way for whatever reason.

He has a dry sense of humor, the kind that often leaves you questioning whether he's joking or being serious.

He's also incredibly wise, intelligent, and sharp. He's obsessed with looking cool, and that vibe has started rubbing off on me. Plus, he absolutely despises early mornings.

Sometimes, during our morning training sessions, he would grumble and complain about the early hour, muttering about how he'd rather be sleeping or drinking tea. But despite his complaints, he always pushed me to give my best, never letting me slack off or make excuses.

As I stood there, nursing my bruised chest and contemplating his words, I couldn't help but feel a sense of gratitude toward him. Sure, he may be tough on me, but it's only because he wants me to succeed in this harsh world.

"Sorry, Master," I muttered, finally meeting his gaze. "I've just been... dealing with some personal stuff lately. It's been weighing on my mind."

Yato's expression softened slightly, his gaze searching mine for a moment. "I see," he replied, his tone less harsh than before. "Tell me Lucas maybe I can help you with your problem, After all I'm your master!"

I glance at Yato as he said those words and thought deeply.

'Shoud I tell him? All of my secrets and my problems?'